narrative. Who: Luke What: Seeing things. Where: A grocery store. (NY, Marvel) When: Nowish. Warnings/Rating: Minor stuff.
It was a test.
Like driving Evie home, sort of. He didn't like leaving Wren but it was going to happen eventually, he knew, she and Evie would go job hunting and there wasn't anything he could do about it. If he tried to argue, it would paint him as insensitive. Controlling. Paranoid. Luke didn't want to be any of those things, even though he worried-- the last time he'd let Wren out of his sight she ended up in Silent fucking Hill. How could he not worry? But she would go and he would have to go back to work, too. Soon. He had a job. And so, this was a test. Going to the grocery store. Simple, right? They could see how she did on her own, with the kids, and how he did away and out of the house. Just for a little while.
But those weren't the only reasons.
It'd happened at the motel. He thought he saw... something. But, it was probably nothing. Probably no one. Just his mind playing tricks. Luke hadn't even mentioned it to anyone because there was no need. He knew what was real and what wasn't. He was okay. He was fine. Didn't he have to be? And so, he was.
But still. A test, just to be sure.
Wren could call if she needed anything. Gus could dial, too, and he'd memorized his father's number. It would be okay, it would be fine, that was what he kept repeating over and over on the drive to the store. It wasn't too late. The sun was just beginning to set, there was still natural light in the sky. Pretty colors. He wondered if he could work the day shift for a while, once he went back. Soon. He wanted to be home at night. He wanted her home at night, too. He'd have to make sure she knew. Later.
He parked. Locked the car and went inside. The lights hurt a little, goddamn fluorescent bulbs, but it was okay. Luke found that aspirin worked for his headaches pretty well. Without a prescription he had to make do with over the counter stuff, and since a prescription meant going to a doctor, well, that wasn't an option. No doctors. No hospitals. No fucking way. But it was okay, and be made his way up and down the aisles looking for what he needed. Cereal. Dog food. Vegetables. Fruit. He was acutely aware of his surroundings, of every single person in his vicinity, but he was calm. As long as no one entered his personal space, this test might just be a success. He started to relax a little. Maybe everything really was fine. He was home. Home wasn't Silent Hill, it wasn't hell or a nightmare.
Home was good.
Or, it was until he reached the end of Aisle 9. He had a basket full of groceries. Next was bread, but he looked down at the white, white floor and saw a trail of something dark and wet winding around the corner.
Dark. Wet. Red.
Blood.
He couldn't smell it. That should've tipped him off, but it didn't. Not right away. Luke stared, and even though he knew he shouldn't follow, he knew, he did anyway. His ears felt funny, like they were stuffed with cotton. Like he was underwater; everything was muffled. Step by step, one by one, and he followed the blood into the next aisle--
There was a dead man propped up against the shelves. The blood was coming from him, pooled beneath his body, and there was a lot of it. His eyes were wide open, staring, staring, and his face was turned toward him. Luke could see who it was. He knew. He remembered.
The basket slipped from his fingers, but he didn't hear it fall. He heard nothing but the beating of his own heart; everything else was so far away. Not real. Not real. Not real. Repetition. The dead man didn't go away. Luke shook his head, no, no, no, and he caught sight of his hands. Blood. He looked down at himself. More blood. But it wasn't real, it couldn't be, this wasn't happening, not now not now not now--
He squeezed his eyes shut. He counted to three.
When he opened them, the dead man was gone. So was the blood. And he could hear again, properly. Somebody who worked there was asking him if he was okay, concerned, and Luke nodded. Smiled. Reached to pick up his basket. "Yes. Sorry. I'm fine." Rote. Practiced. He moved towards the checkouts, because he didn't want to be here anymore. Screw the bread. He'd get it later.
As he was paying, he made the mistake of looking up. The woman at the next checkout was looking at him. It was Jude. Dead, dead, blood bubbling from her mouth. She smiled. Luke looked down at his hands and counted to three again, and he didn't look up until he was outside. Then, he could breathe.
Maybe, maybe, he'd brought a part of that place with him. Maybe it was still in his head. It would go away, it would stop, it had to. Temporary, it was just temporary. As long as he remembered what he saw wasn't real he'd be okay, right? He could ignore them. Yes. Ignore them and they'd go away. He repeated it to himself as he walked to the car, a whisper. "Ignore them. They'll go away. It's okay. I'm okay," he repeated, under his breath, because it helped to say it aloud. No one had to know. He could still be fine. He could. He could go to work and do things and he'd just ignore anyone he saw that was dead.
Like the girl beneath the light pole, there. By the shopping carts. Dead girl with the sad eyes and bruises around her neck. Blink, and there was a man behind her. Bullet hole in his head. He looked angry. The girl was crying. But-- "No," Luke said aloud. He leaned against the car. "They're not there. They aren't real. No." Close his eyes and count to three, and then they were gone. Gone because they weren't real.
His ghosts. His problem. He just had to ignore them until they went away. And he was really good at pretending.
Luke loaded the groceries in the trunk. He got in the car. But he didn't drive away yet, no, no. He went fumbling into the glove compartment and found his bottle of aspirin, shook out a couple of pills, tossed them back dry. Yes. Good. They'd keep the headache he could feel coming away. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a long, shaky exhale.